Foam
by Yaahoohoo
Summary: This is a shitty little something I wrote about The Mole being blind and Gregory shaving him.


His voice was rough, the words it pronounced biting and full of anger. I knew all he wanted to do was hit me. But he kept grabbing on his knees until I saw his knuckles go completely white, making the pink scars that signed them more noticeable.

"Hands off, you filzy beetch!"

"Christo-"

"Do not call me that name, you piece o' sheet"

I closed my eyes with an exhasperated sigh. His vocabulary had been especially foul since he came back from that mission.

The mission that I had sent him on.

I reminded myself of this everyday as I shaved his jaw. It was the least I could do for him. I owed him.

"Mole, if I don't hold your chin I might cut you."

"And you think anozer scar is a problem for me?"

He slapped my hand off his face quite roughly, as usual, only this time it actually hurt. He had never harmed me before and I was starting to get scared -not of him- but of what I had done to him. It felt like I was realizing just now what all of this meant, that I took his sight away by sending him away.

As if the first time I saw him getting off that helicopter, half conscuious and dragged by the aidmen, blindfolded with bloody and dirty bandages, I felt everything was a nightmare and I would eventually wake up from it. But right in this moment I knew I've had been awake the whole time.

I looked at him, my eyes wide open, my vision getting blurrier by the second, as if my tears wanted to show me what it was like to want to see, and just finding vague images and dull colors.

As my tears started falling down he stood up clenching his fists.

"Je suis aveugle parce que toi tu est un connard d'égoïste! Tu est mort pour moi, Britannique de merde!"

I couldn't sleep that whole week. Nor did he let me shave him.

Seven days had to pass before he let me touch him again.

The fourth day I silently watched as he tried to shave on his own, cussing all the while but failing in the end.

I felt horrible the whole time. He looked so hopeless, so miserable, he couldn't be the same Mole who said goodbyes with a confident wink as I wished him luck before going away.

He hadn't even blamed God yet. He hadn't really talked to me at all.

He was now sitting in front of me, frowning and clearly uncomfortable. Any other time I would have mocked him for giving up his pride, but right now all I cared about was the little scratches he had made himself and how the scruff had grown in an irregular shape.

I was relieved he kept his eyes glued to the ground but still I wondered if he could hear my loud heartbeats in the silence.

Then the shaving became a routine. A routine I couldn't keep doing anymore.

It was draining me. We barely spoke to each other. I tried to help him with every little daily task but that only made it worse. It made him feel useless, made him feel dispensable. So now I only helped him shave.

He would sometimes look at me. Well, not really at me but in my direction. His undefined pupils choking me with uncertainty, since I could not know anymore what his mood was through them. At those times I stopped moving, breathing, thinking. They didn't last more than a few seconds, but the feeling they left never disappeared.

Today, I couldn't take it anymore. I felt guilt, I felt sorrow. I even felt pity for him. And worst of all, he knew.

I was going to start spreading foam over his cheeks but I couldn't. I was frozen and he noticed, making a deeper frown and looking straight into my eyes. His senses, even though overused, were as sharp as always.

I saw his hand reaching out looking for me until he unintentionally touched my wrist. He took a hold of it but I did nothing. I could only stand there, gripping the foam bottle in my hand so hard that I thought I would eventually make it explode; until he spoke.

"What is the matter"

I let the bottle fall to the ground with a great clash, now using my shaky hands to hold his face and kiss him. Neither of us had our eyes closed. I wanted him to see me. I wanted to see his eyes seeing me.

A shameful sob crashed into his lips and I separated from him, trying to stop from crying. From sobbing like a stupid little boy in front of him, who hadn't yet shed a tear for his misery. Who would have thought one day I would let myself cry in front of him? Things had changed so much it felt like a bad joke.

He was looking at me. Both our breaths ragged, both our mouths half opened. Both our hearts about to stop. But then I didn't expect what he did next.

That didn't change, you never knew with The Mole.


End file.
